


Strain

by Neurotoxia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tseng did not like his feelings for his second-in-command and said man's ceaseless flirting does not help the issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strain

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of fanfiction I've written after a self-imposed draught of three years. Therefore, feedback would be greatly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: FFVII and the characters belong to Square Enix, only the writing is mine.

# Strain

 _Tick, tock, tick, tock,..._

The redundant ticking of the clock sitting on his dark wooden desk normally was a source of relaxation but today, instead of soothing his strained mind, it rather made the muscles in his jaw twitch in agitation.

 _Crack_

The pencil had finally given in to hours of restless twisting and bending. It gave him a split second of satisfaction but it was gone again as fast as it had come. Before him, a long memo from Heidegger about ammunition distributions on his tablet PC demanded his attention. And while he normally had no problem with taking care of such dull tasks – Heidegger's memos being in the Top Three on Tseng’s personal inofficial „Things that bore you to death“-ranking – today he could not concentrate. He had read the first paragraph countless times and yet had not the slightest idea what it contained.

'Unacceptable...,' he thought, his brows furrowing like they always did when he was dissatisfied.

He was the commander, after all. Being idle and distracted was not part of his work ethics. He was a perfectionist, focusing 100% on even the smallest, mundane details and constantly urging his subordinates to do the same.

'Focus, Tseng,' he repeated as a mantra in his head and reached for his Shinra mug containing now cold coffee. He did not particularly like the beverage but ever since he had taken over the commander's position he drank plenty of it. Only the bitterness and caffeine of strong black coffee kept him awake during hours of budget meetings, Heidegger's excessive mail and particularly boring reports. In private, he preferred the grassy smell and taste of green tea.

Just when he dragged his eyes away from the logo on the mug and back onto the screen of his tablet, laughter echoed from the adjacent office – a voice he would have recognized in a million: _Reno._

If Tseng did not have as much control over himself as he did he would have groaned. His concentration went flying out of the window again and he banged his head against the headrest of his chair in growing despair, closing his eyes.

 _Reno..._

The source of his restlessness, his inability to concentrate and it had been like this for a while now. With a frown, Tseng got up to look out of his giant office windows on the 69th floor of Shinra Tower, arms crossed over his chest. Gloomily, he stared down onto Midgar's dark, eerie streets, a soft green glow illuminating the city in the early evening.

It was wrong on so many levels. He should not be thinking about Reno this much. It was inappropriate to desire touching the long red mane, running his fingers through the silken spikes whenever he was near his second-in-command. The jolts in his spine and the tingle in his loins should not be triggered by the redhead's small touches when handing over a report or a cup of coffee. It was impolite to stare at the toned lithe body when they changed back into their suits after a long combat training session. All of this was completely wrong.

Not only was it wrong concerning work ethics – he was Reno's superior after all – it was also a dangerous game to play. Tseng's frown deepened. The danger was undeniable. Their job required coldness, a blank emotional state. It _did_ take a special kind of bastard to pull a trigger in someone's face. And while the average Turk did not give a damn about 99.99% of the planet's population, the remaining 0.01% could be hazardous in this job. In order to protect not only them, but yourself as well, they were kept at arm's length or completely severed from your life.

Absentmindedly, his almond-shaped eyes still focused on the unnatural green shimmer of the Mako reactors, Tseng started tapping his fingers lightly on the window glass. Everyone had heard gruesome stories about Turks who had gotten too attached to each other and it was clearly not his desire to end up on the list of examples.

His group of Turks was the closest thing to what Tseng could call family but if he were forced to decide whether to save the life of the President or a fellow Turk, he, just like every other dedicated member of this department, would save the hand that fed him. But if he became intimate with Reno, borders would be blurred, emotions would come into play and the decision would not be as clear. Severe injuries or worse were not a far-fetched scenario. Tseng was the commander, he preached picture-perfect behavior to his subordinates and always aimed to set an example. Yet he was very close to breaking an enormous number of unwritten Turk rules.

 _Quite the hypocrite, aren't I?_

On the other hand, the simple desire for company was not completely lost on the Turks either. Even though he liked being alone, Tseng did not value loneliness. And as much as he hated to admit it, there was a void no amount of social drinking with your colleagues or sex with strangers could fill. However small, a desire to belong somewhere or rather with someone was certainly residing within his soul and each time he looked at Reno, it came to the surface with renewed vigor. Tseng hated it. Sometimes, he wanted to strangle the redhead for the feelings he caused.

A sharp knock on the door pulled Tseng out of his reverie. He turned and granted entrance. Reno in his usual ruffled attire leisurely strode into his office, a grin plastered on his tattooed face.

“Reports are done, boss. Sent 'em straight to your inbox,” Reno announced with his barely-covered slum accent, “'m goin' to that bar in Sector Five, wanna join me?”

Tseng had to tear his eyes from Reno's collarbone which was visible thanks to him constantly refusing to wear a tie and to button up the shirt properly. The redhead's grin widened. He had noticed Tseng staring, and not for the first time.

“I still have work to do. Maybe next time,” came the automatic reply after Tseng had regained control over himself.

“Sure thing. See ya tomorrow.” With a wink and a sparkle in his green eyes, Reno left his superior's office, the grin still unwavering. For months now, he had been not-so-subtlely flirting with Tseng and he could see the walls crumbling.

After the door had clicked shut, the Turk commander let a rare sigh escape and closed his eyes.

 _Who am I kidding..._

It was not a question of if, but of when. Some things were simply worth the risk.


End file.
